A Sunset

The divine artist wielded her brush to adorn the sky,
To paint the distant horizon with orange flames,
They were bathed with the dying sun’s tired yellow sigh,
It was these stubborn embers that the night was trying to tame,
With a deluge of midnight blue pouring down,
Turning pale at the sun’s farewell gaze,
The soul yearned for the perfection that can be no mortal’s own,
Struggling to tear down existence’s twisted maze.
Such beauty must surely be truth’s real face,
But such perfect beauty surely cannot be true.
So much that is yet to be understood and so little the human world,
So high the aspirations of the mind, so weak the will of the body,
Entrapped in this cage of flesh and blood, the spirit struggled,
And the eyes turned for one last lingering look,
To etch it on a leaf of memory’s book,
And as the colours faded into the darkness,
The storm that raged subsided,
And that spark that glowed died into nothingness,
And the mind returned to its lethargic slumber,
Revolutions and rebellions, inventions and inspirations,
All that we hold good and true, and all that is shunned and despised,
Will merge and fade away like the colours that I saw one evening in the sky.

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